Page 83 of A Very Daddy Christmas

“Fuck you, St. James!” I growl. “Tell your lackeys it’s over. We’re the owners now. They might as well accept it and move the fuck on.”

“Is it over, though?”

Eva and I freeze, staring at him. For a second or two, I can hear my heart beating in my ears, drumming in agony as the mere sight of this man amplifies my morning sickness. But Orson looks irritatingly calm. Even grinning with what I can only describe as pure satisfaction. I expected him to foam at the mouth, not… whatever this is.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“Well, Miss Levine. As it turns out, that tenancy agreement we inherited from Mr. Selznick is simply the gift that keeps on giving.” Orson chuckles and produces another copy from his coat pocket, along with a large manila envelope, handing them both to Eva without taking his eyes off me. “Your sister has the right to know how you single-handedly destroyed everything.”

“I don’t understand,” I mumble.

“That makes two of us,” Eva whispers, staring at the papers. “What am I looking at?”

“Oh, I highlighted the specific clause in bright green. Page three, you can’t miss it,” Orson says, still smiling at me.

I want to smack him to wipe that obnoxious smirk from his smug face. It would land me in jail, but I would have zero regrets.

“A morality clause?” Eva asks, then gives me a confused look.

All I can do is shrug. “I don’t get it.”

“Whether Mr. Selznick intended for that clause to stay or not doesn’t really matter,” Orson says. “Times have changed, I’m well aware. And things that were considered immoral during his time are now no longer really frowned upon. Be that as it may, there are things I cannot condone as a good Christian. And a woman fornicating with numerous men at the same time… I’m sorry, I must draw a line as it goes against my religious beliefs and my decency. As a husband, a father, a man of the church, I simply can’t.”

“You’re the one who started those vicious rumors,” Eva says, briefly scanning the text. “Just so you could use this antiquated clause? You don’t have any proof of Corafornicatingwithanyone. We could sue you for defamation.”

“The clause is clear, however. Should the owner be uncomfortable with the tenant’s behavior and lifestyle, should they consider it immoral or devious by the current legislation and religious beliefs by which the landlord abides, and should they present proof of said behavior and lifestyle, then they are well within their right to reject the escrow and render any sale null and void,” Orson insists.

Eva scoffs. “Proof of said behavior and lifestyle. You don’t have that. You fanned the flames on a nasty rumor. That’s not proof, you prick!”

“Check the envelope.”

My blood runs cold. I have an inkling of what might be in that envelope, and in the back of my head, I’m already going over all the possible instances in which I might’ve been caught in a compromising position with Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs. In retrospect, lying to Eva has clearly come back to bite me in the ass. I can almost see my life falling apart brick by brick.

“No,” I whisper, but Eva can’t hear me.

With trembling fingers, she tears the envelope open and takes out a handful of printed, high-resolution photographs. I can’t see them from where I’m standing but judging by the speed with which the color drains from my sister’s face as she looks at them, I know it’s over. Orson found a way to destroy us, even after the escrow went through.

“Rutger Resort,” Orson says, noticing my hesitation to come closer so I can see what proof he brought before us today. “They pride themselves with discretion and confidentiality, but they’re not impossible to breach, Miss Levine.”

“No.”

“Cora, what is this?” Eva mutters, turning one photo so I can see it.

There’s me. Tangled between Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs. We’re naked. In our private suite. The image was captured from somewhere close by, likely through one of the windows. We didn’t see or hear anything at the time.

“I can explain,” I manage.

Eva shakes her head in sheer disbelief.

Orson, on the other hand, decides it’s a good time to belt out a hearty laugh. “The morality clause stands, ladies. And with that kind of proof, there isn’t a court in this land that won’t side with me. I just hope you didn’t drink too much champagne celebrating this Christmas, because I am still the owner of the bakery building, since that automatic sale has just been rendered—”

“Null and void,” Eva finishes his sentence for him, giving me a horrified look. “Cora, how could you do this?”

“Eva, I can explain, it’s not—”

“You have until January seventh to vacate the premises,” Orson cuts in with a harsh and unforgiving tone. “I’ve let you squat in here for long enough. Besides, I need to renovate, by the looks of it. Your proclivities are to blame, Miss Levine. This is what whoring around gets you. I suggest—OUCH!”

Eva’s hand shot out so fast, nobody saw it coming.

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